How I Found Livingstone by Henry M. Stanley (read after .txt) 📖

quickly as

they had come, leaving the burly Thersites, and two or three

irresolute fellows of his tribe, standing within pistol range

of my levelled rifle. Such a sudden dispersion of the mob which,

but a moment before, was overwhelming in numbers, caused me to

lower my rifle, and to indulge in a hearty laugh at the disgraceful

flight of the men-destroyers. The Arabs, who were as much

alarmed at their boisterous obtrusiveness, now came up to patch

a truce, in which they succeeded to everybody’s satisfaction.

A few words of explanation, and the mob came back in greater

numbers than before; and the Thersites who had been the cause

of the momentary disturbance was obliged to retire abashed

before the pressure of public opinion. A chief now came up,

whom I afterwards learned was the second man to Swaruru, and

lectured the people upon their treatment of the “White Stranger.”

 

“Know ye not, Wagogo,” shouted he, “that this Musungu is a

sultan (mtemi—a most high title). He has not come to Ugogo

like the Wakonongo (Arabs), to trade in ivory, but to see us,

and give presents. Why do you molest him and his people?

Let them pass in peace. If you wish to see him, draw near,

but do not mock him. The first of you who creates a disturbance,

let him beware; our great mtemi shall know how you treat his

friends.” This little bit of oratorical effort on the part of

the chief was translated to me there and then by the old Sheik

Thani; which having understood, I bade the Sheikh inform the

chief that, after I had rested, I should like him to visit me

in my tent.

 

Having arrived at the khambi, which always surrounds some great

baobab in Ugogo, at the distance of about half a mile from the

tembe of the Sultan, the Wagogo pressed in such great numbers to

the camp that Sheikh Thani resolved to make an effort to stop or

mitigate the nuisance. Dressing himself in his best clothes, he

went to appeal to the Sultan for protection against his people.

The Sultan was very much inebriated, and was pleased to say,

“What is it you want, you thief? You have come to steal my

ivory or my cloth. Go away, thief!” But the sensible chief,

whose voice had just been heard reproaching the people for their

treatment of the Wasungu, beckoned to Thani to come out of the

tembe, and then proceeded with him towards the khambi.

 

The camp was in a great uproar; the curious Wagogo monopolized

almost every foot of ground; there was no room to turn anywhere.

The Wanyamwezi were quarreling with the Wagogo, the Wasawahili

servants were clamoring loud that the Wagogo pressed down their

tents, and that the property of the masters was in danger; while

I, busy on my diary within my tent, cared not how great was the

noise and confusion outside as long as it confined itself to the

Wagogo, Wanyamwezi, and Wangwana.

 

The presence of the chief in the camp was followed by a deep

silence that I was prevailed upon to go outside to see what had

caused it. The chief’s words were few, and to the point. He said,

“To your tembes, Wagogo—to your tembes! Why, do you come to

trouble the Wakonongo: What have you to do with them? To

your tembes: go! Each Mgogo found in the khambi without meal,

without cattle to sell, shall pay to the mtemi cloth or cows.

Away with you!” Saying which, he snatched up a stick and drove the

hundreds out of the khambi, who were as obedient to him as so many

children. During the two days we halted at Mukondoku we saw no

more of the mob, and there was peace.

 

The muhongo of the Sultan Swaruru was settled with few words. The

chief who acted for the Sultan as his prime minister having been

“made glad” with a doti of Rehani Ulyah from me, accepted the usual

tribute of six doti, only one of which was of first-class cloth.

 

There remained but one more sultan to whom muhongo must be paid

after Mukondoku, and this was the Sultan of Kiwyeh, whose

reputation was so bad that owners of property who had control over

their pagazis seldom passed by Kiwyeh, preferring the hardships of

long marches through the wilderness to the rudeness and exorbitant

demands of the chief of Kiwyeh. But the pagazis, on whom no burden

or responsibility fell save that of carrying their loads, who

could use their legs and show clean heels in the case of a hostile

outbreak, preferred the march to Kiwyeh to enduring thirst and the

fatigue of a terekeza. Often the preference of the pagazis won the

day, when their employers were timid, irresolute men, like Sheikh

Hamed.

 

The 7th of June was the day fixed for our departure from Mukondoku,

so the day before, the Arabs came to my tent to counsel with me

as to the route we should adopt. On calling together the kirangozis

of the respective caravans and veteran Wanyamwezi pagazis, we

learned there were three roads leading from Mukondoku to Uyanzi.

The first was the southern road, and the one generally adopted,

for the reasons already stated, and led by Kiwyeh. To this

Hamed raised objections. “The Sultan was bad,” he said; “he

sometimes charged a caravan twenty doti; our caravan would

have to pay about sixty doti. The Kiwyeh road would not do at

all. Besides,” he added, “we have to make a terekeza to reach

Kiwyeh, and then we will not reach it before the day after

tomorrow.” The second was the central road. We should arrive

at Munieka on the morrow; the day after would be a terekeza from

Mabunguru Nullah to a camp near Unyambogi; two hours the next

day would bring us to Kiti, where there was plenty of water and

food. As neither of the kirangozis or Arabs knew this road, and

its description came from one of my ancient pagazis, Hamed said he

did not like to trust the guidance of such a large caravan in the

hands of an old Mnyamwezi, and would therefore prefer to hear about

the third road, before rendering his decision. The third road was

the northern. It led past numerous villages of the Wagogo for the

first two hours; then we should strike a jungle; and a three

hours’ march would then bring us to Simbo, where there was water,

but no village. Starting early next morning, we would travel six

hours when we would arrive at a pool of water. Here taking a short

rest, an afternoon march of five hours would bring us within three

hours of another village. As this last road was known to many,

Hamed said, “Sheikh Thani, tell the Sahib that I think this is the

best road.” Sheikh Thani was told, after he had informed me that,

as I had marched with them through Ugogo, if they decided upon

going by Simbo, my caravan would follow.

 

Immediately after the discussion among the principals respecting

the merits of the several routes, arose a discussion among the

pagazis which resulted in an obstinate clamor against the Simbo

road, for its long terekeza and scant prospects of water, the

dislike to the Simbo road communicated itself to all the caravans,

and soon it was magnified by reports of a wilderness reaching from

Simbo to Kusuri, where there was neither food nor water to be

obtained. Hamed’s pagazis, and those of the Arab servants, rose

in a body and declared they could not go on that march, and if

Hamed insisted upon adopting it they would put their packs down

and leave him to carry them himself.

 

Hamed Kimiani, as he was styled by the Arabs, rushed up to Sheikh

Thani, and declared that he must take the Kiwyeh road, otherwise

his pagazis would all desert. Thani replied that all the roads

were the same to him, that wherever Hamed chose to go, he would

follow. They then came to my tent, and informed me of the

determination at which the Wanyamwezi had arrived. Calling my

veteran Mnyamwezi, who had given me the favourable report once

more to my tent, I bade him give a correct account of the Kiti

road. It was so favourable that my reply to Hamed was, that I

was the master of my caravan, that it was to go wherever I told

the kirangozi, not where the pagazis chose; that when I told

them to halt they must halt, and when I commanded a march, a

march should be made; and that as I fed them well and did not

overwork them, I should like to see the pagazi or soldier that

disobeyed me. “You made up your mind just now that you would take

the Simbo road, and we were agreed upon it, now your pagazis say

they will take, the Kiwyeh road, or desert. Go on the Kiwyeh road

and pay twenty doti muhongo. I and my caravan tomorrow morning

will take the Kiti road, and when you find me in Unyanyembe

one day ahead of you, you will be sorry you did not take the same

road.”

 

This resolution of mine had the effect of again changing the

current of Hamed’s thoughts, for he instantly said, “That is the

best road after all, and as the Sahib is determined to go on it,

and we have all travelled together through the bad land of the

Wagogo, Inshallah! let us all go the same way,” and Thani=-good

old man—not objecting, and Hamed having decided, they both

joyfully went out of the tent to communicate the news.

 

On the 7th the caravans—apparently unanimous that the Kiti road

was to be taken—were led as usual by Hamed’s kirangozi. We had

barely gone a mile before I perceived that we had left the Simbo

road, had taken the direction of Kiti, and, by a cunning detour,

were now fast approaching the defile of the mountain ridge before

us, which admitted access to the higher plateau of Kiwyeh.

Instantly halting my caravan, I summoned the veteran who had

travelled by Kiti, and asked him whether we were not going towards

Kiwyeh. He replied that we were. Calling my pagazis together,

I bade Bombay tell them that the Musuugu never changed his mind;

that as I had said my caravan should march by Kiti; to Kiti it

must go whether the Arabs followed or not. I then ordered the

veteran to take up his load and show the kirangozi the proper road

to Kiti. The Wanyamwezi pagazis put down their bales, and then

there was every indication of a mutiny. The Wangwana soldiers

were next ordered to load their guns and to flank the caravan, and

shoot the first pagazis who made an attempt to run away.

Dismounting, I seized my whip, and, advancing towards the first

pagazi who had put down his load, I motioned to him to take up his

load and march. It was unnecessary to proceed further; without

an exception, all marched away obediently after the kirangozi.

I was about bidding farewell to Thani, and Hamed, when Thani said,

“Stop a bit, Sahib; I have had enough of this child’s play; I come

with you,” and his caravan was turned after mine. Hamed’s caravan

was by this time close to the defile, and he himself was a full

mile behind it, weeping like a child at what he was pleased to call

our desertion of him. Pitying his strait—for he was almost beside

himself as thoughts of Kiwyeh’s sultan, his extortion and rudeness,

swept across his mind—I advised him to run after his caravan,

and tell it, as all the rest had taken the other road, to think

of the Sultan of Kiwyeh. Before reaching the Kiti defile I was

aware